A Girl Too Long Away From Home
by Winterlyn Dow
Summary: Most girls outgrow their childhood crush. Some girls don't. One-shot, Modern AU, New Orleans, college!Arya, mostly Jaqen x Arya with a mention of Aegon x Arya. Part 1 of the series: Need in the City that Care Forgot


**A silly little half-formed idea rolling around in my brain...**

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He'd never been a conventional man. She thought that was probably why she was so attracted to him for all those years, her strange foreign neighbor. Well, that, and frankly, he was gorgeous. _Movie star hot,_ Sansa had called him when he first moved in next door. It was one of the very few things the sisters ever agreed on. Jaqen _was_ movie star hot, no doubt.

Mostly, she just watched him from her bedroom window as he came and went, but he had been to her house several times over the years, invited by her mother to this dinner party or that barbecue. He always accepted these invitations, if he was in town, and when he did, he always made a point to speak to her, the youngest of the Stark girls. The way his accented voice rumbled up from his chest made her feel a little strange, but she thought she hid it well. It was as if she could feel _herself_ vibrating when he spoke to her.

Arya Stark had always been a smart girl, if perhaps a bit of a handful. She sometimes thought she made her teachers uncomfortable. Her father said that might be true, because she was a _genius,_ and not everyone was equipped to deal with an intellect like hers. Arya didn't think that was really the problem, though. Her mother told her that she had an _old soul,_ but that wasn't quite right, either. It was more like she understood people and she understood what motivated them, perhaps even better than they understood it themselves. It gave her an insight out of step with her youth and some people found that disconcerting. She thought perhaps her parents and teachers found it disconcerting, too.

But Jaqen never did.

When the two of them spoke, it was often like stepping into the middle of a conversation which had been ongoing, even if she hadn't laid eyes on him in half a month. And it never felt wrong. They just picked up the threads and carried on as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to do. Words exchanged across the fence which separated his yard from her driveway. A short conversation when they crossed paths while checking mail or if they chanced to be waiting for the streetcar at the same time. Interactions on her back patio during a Fourth of July party. The one time they had walked to the parade route together and he had put her on his shoulders so she could see better and catch more beads. Sometimes the things he said to her would have seemed very cryptic and confusing to someone else, but she always got it. And sometimes the things she said to him would have sounded like half-formed ideas floating in the nether to another person, but he always understood. They had this strange sort of _chemistry,_ she thought, but she never said that to him. Still, if she had to guess about it, she would say that he knew. That was part of the chemistry too, she supposed.

When Arya Stark finally left home for school, she chose a college far away. Though she frequently found herself at odds with her family's expectations of her, she wasn't running, exactly, though she suspected Sansa thought that she was (Sansa, who stayed home for school and was surprised when her sister did not follow her. They could have been _sorority sisters,_ the red-head lamented. Arya laughed, saying they were blood sisters, and wasn't that better?) It was just one of those things that Arya felt she was supposed to do—strike out on her own for a bit (as much _on her own_ as she could be at an isolated, hill-top institution adjacent to a sleepy town, surrounded by mountains and historic brick buildings and the soft cocoon of academia). Besides, somehow a small, private liberal arts school nestled in the mountains of Virginia with the unlikely name of Eleanor Remmings College and a ridiculous annual tuition somewhere north of fifty-five thousand dollars just _happened_ to have the top women's fencing program in the country. Due to this, ERC was a huge international draw and had produced a large percentage of the Olympic medalists in the sport (sadly, none were part of the U.S. team, but Arya intended to change that trend. She would give the Italians a run for their money).

And now, the athletic director had just accomplished a nearly impossible coup, managing to steal away Syrio Forel, the fiery coach of the Italian national team. He and Arya would be joining the program at Remmings at the same time (her head practically swam when she thought about it). That, coupled with the scholarship she had been awarded (the Starks could have easily absorbed the outrageous expense of Remmings, but the fact that they didn't have to was a huge point of pride for their youngest daughter), made her defection from New Orleans a no-brainer, even if it meant making due without crawfish for a while. Sansa could be the big-girl-on-campus at Tulane. Arya was headed for the Eastern time zone and the Blue Ridge.

While she walked toward her hand-me-down Audi (packed to the gills with all the things a girl needs to make a dorm room a home: her fencing gear, boxes filled with her favorite books, an antique but still serviceable typewriter, about a million framed pictures of her friends and family, and a vintage Joan Jett poster) and away from her childhood home, Jaqen stood in his yard, peering over his ornate wrought iron fence and across her driveway. He had watched the farewell scene on her front porch unfold, all while looking somehow _perfect_ in a plain white t-shirt and some old gray sweatpants, drinking his coffee. Once in her car, Arya gave her neighbor a small wave as she pulled away and thought she saw him smile at her over his mug. Then she was gone.

Between the distance, the team practices, the competitions, and her heavy load of challenging classes, Arya did not return home at all her freshman year. Her mother protested mightily at Christmas, but Catelyn had finally been convinced that she couldn't forbid her daughter from attending the qualifier for the Junior World Championship, not when Syrio had been so adamant that the girl was the team's best hope for a junior qualifier and a good showing at the championship was her best path to the Olympic team. Arya had been sad to be away from her family over the holiday, but Skype and the fact that the qualifying match was being held in Paris had softened the blow somewhat.

With all that was going on at school, the youngest Stark girl thought that she had put her silly, girlish crush on her neighbor behind her. She almost never thought of the man, or his motorcycle, or the way he would leave his house at all hours, making him seem mysterious and a little dangerous. She hardly ever remembered the way he would say her whole name whenever he addressed her formally (his accented English making "Arya Stark" sound almost like one soft, buttery word) and the way he would call her "lovely girl" and "sweet child" whenever he spoke to her less-formally. She rarely ever recalled her last goodbye to him, that small wave through her car window, or thought of the way his blue eyes had peered at her over the top of a black coffee mug with some sort of white symbol on it as he smiled back at her with his half-quirked mouth.

Well, maybe that wasn't _exactly_ true. Maybe she thought of him _sometimes._ Like before her calculus tests and after fencing practice and during German 101 ( _especially_ during German 101). She thought of him, too, during biology lab, because plant cells weren't enough to hold her interest and wondering if he had kept his hair close-cropped or if he had finally let it grow out as he had once casually mentioned he might seemed a better way to spend her time.

Okay, so she did think of him, maybe even a lot, but she thought of other things, too. Occasionally. Her grades were still excellent, at any rate, and Syrio seemed happy with her, so she supposed she needn't have worried too much about being _distracted._ And besides, there was nothing wrong with having a little crush. Really, with the schedule she kept, it was all she had time for, anyway. One of her senior teammates had a cousin (or was it a nephew? It was some weird sort of family relationship that wasn't completely clear to Arya) who came to visit a few times and seemed to take an interest in the young fencer. He had invited her on a few dates, but it hadn't led to much, mostly because Arya was so instinctively cautious when it came to romance. He was good-looking enough (tall and blonde, he looked like the prototypical California surfer, but he had this odd sort of Greek-sounding name: Aegon), but he went to Georgetown, not exactly a short drive, so it wasn't like they could hang out all the time. He did show up to some of her matches, when they were being held a reasonable distance from D.C., but she told herself it was to see his cousin (aunt? Stepsister?), not her.

Finally, her exams all taken and the fencing season essentially over, Arya was going home. Syrio certainly had plans for the team's training during the summer months, but he was allowing them approximately four weeks before he would begin driving them hard again. During the break, she planned to relax in New Orleans with her family while her coach was to return to Italy for his niece's wedding ("She does not fence," he had told the team somewhat dejectedly, "but I love her anyway.") The youngest Stark girl was excited to see her brothers and sister again and she was excited to see her parents as well, but somehow, as she loaded her suitcase in her car for the long drive back to New Orleans, all she could think of was Jaqen.

Which was weird, because they hadn't really communicated much since she left home.

She had sent him a note around Halloween, something that wasn't even really a holiday card but that she thought he would find funny (and he did. She knew because he texted her "ha ha ha" a few days after she dropped it in the mail. She had gotten a new phone soon after arriving at school and had not given him her number, but somehow, it seemed natural that he would respond in this way). She had also mailed him a postcard from Paris a couple of months later, just because she thought he might think it was cool (and in return, when she checked her post office box at school after the team flew home, she found a postcard from Berlin, dated the day after she had sent hers). On her eighteenth birthday (which occurred in the middle of finals—Arya had skipped a year in grade school and was therefore a _young_ freshman), a bonsai tree in an antique flow blue china planter was delivered to her dorm. The note simply said, "Happy birthday, lovely girl."

And that was the sum total of their interaction over the past nine months.

(If one didn't count the rare vivid dream that took a few minutes to shake off or the occasional 3 a.m. Google searches and Facebook stalking, which she didn't, because that damn German _still_ didn't believe in social networking, apparently, and she'd already seen the Times Picayune photo of him shaking Harry Connick Jr's hand at the Krewe of Orpheus ball three years ago, like, a thousand times).

So, a handful of exchanged words via text and postcard, a few disturbingly realistic dreams, some shameful internet stalking, and a plant; that's what there was between them, and yet as Arya merged onto I-81 South with approximately fifteen hours of driving ahead of her, all she could think about was if Jaqen might be looking at her over a mug of coffee as she pulled into her driveway. And if he was, what would she say to him?

Of course, fifteen hours was plenty of time to come up with something good.

Her mother had made her promise to stop half-way and stay in a hotel overnight because she feared her daughter would become fatigued and have a wreck if she tried to make the trip in a day. Arya had agreed, because it was pretty difficult to say no to her mom about these sorts of things and the girl liked to save her energies to argue about the stuff that really mattered to her. However, when she stopped just past Chattanooga to fill up the Audi and get something to eat, she found herself antsy to continue on. She decided it was probably a side effect of all the sugar and caffeine she'd consumed that day. Syrio didn't let them eat junk food or drink anything caffeinated (and, considering his track record, it was hard to argue with his methods, though she had been tempted mightily those first few weeks at school when she was dealing with the withdrawal headaches) but as far as Arya was concerned, four weeks of freedom meant Diet Coke, cafe au lait, and all the Slim Jims and beignets she could stuff in her face (and though finding an acceptable cafe au lait or beignet on the road home wasn't exactly practical, she had loaded up on Starbucks before she even hit the interstate and had managed to down three cans of caffeinated cola goodness in the time between breakfast and her arrival at the Tennessee-Georgia state line).

What she hadn't counted on was how intensified the effects of the caffeine would be after her long abstinence.

"I'll just drive to Birmingham," she told herself, "and stop then." But Birmingham came and went and then she had made it past Tuscaloosa (stopping for another diet coke and a quick bathroom break and nothing more. Bama fans scared her) and by the time she was in Mississippi, she figured she might as well go the rest of the way and surprise her family by coming down for breakfast in her pajamas the next morning rather than arriving via the front door in time for a late lunch. In this way, she found herself driving down St. Charles Avenue at eleven thirty at night, still wide awake but with a decidedly sore posterior. Mindful of the late hour, she doused her headlights before she pulled into the drive, not wanting to wake her parents or siblings.

When she stepped out of her car and stretched, the humidity hit Arya like a wall. The air was warm and heavy and it felt like home. She hadn't really allowed herself to feel homesickness in all of her months away. She was busy, and there was a lot riding on her ability to stay focused, so she denied herself that weakness. It was only now, standing in her driveway as a brightly lit streetcar rolled past, that it really hit her just how much she had missed New Orleans. She spun in a slow circle to take it all in, but stopped abruptly when she heard an accented voice greeting her.

"Welcome home, lovely girl," Jaqen said softly over the fence. Arya yelped in surprise and he laughed lightly at that, apologizing for scaring her. "I thought you were expected tomorrow."

She gave him a questioning look, obviously wondering how he knew her schedule. He read her curiosity and answered without further prompting.

"Your mother mentioned it this morning. She came over to invite me to a Memorial Day party. You Americans certainly do love your barbecues."

"Thanks for the tree," she replied, and then bit her bottom lip, mentally kicking herself. _Thanks for the tree?_ That was _not_ one of the eleventy-billion things she had thought up to say to him on the way home. The drive must have made her delirious.

Jaqen smiled, bowing his head slightly, a gesture Arya took to mean some super-polite European version of, "No problem."

"What are you doing?" she asked then, noting his clothes. Dark leather jacket too warm for the night, graphic t-shirt whose design was too obscured by the dim light and the jacket to make out, low slung jeans, and boots.

"I was going to take my bike out," he answered and it was then that she saw he was indeed standing next to his motorcycle. "It seemed a good night for a ride. But here, let me help you with your luggage first."

He started along the fence, meaning to round into her driveway, but she stopped him.

"Thanks, but don't bother. I'm not quite ready to go in yet. I'm pretty wired on caffeine and I don't want to wake anyone up. I think I'll take a walk."

Even in the dim night, she could read the disapproval on his face.

"Surely a girl hasn't been gone so long that she has forgotten that walking around this city late at night, alone, is not the safest thing."

She loved when his syntax slipped like that. She sometimes suspected that was why he did it. _A girl_. She smiled slightly.

"I'm not scared," she told him.

"Yes, I know," he replied, placing his hands on the fence and leaning over it slightly. "A girl has always had more courage than sense."

Her smile slipped.

Jaqen looked at her and he seemed to be considering something. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly.

"Come over here, Arya Stark."

When he spoke, her heart leapt into her throat.

"Why?" she managed to ask, hoping she didn't sound too hoarse. Or too afraid.

He cocked his head and then gave her a teasing smile.

"And here a man thought you were not scared."

That did it. She glanced back at the house briefly. The porch light was on, but no lights shone through the windows. She hit the lock button on her car and stuffed her keys down in the front pocket of her jeans. Giving Jaqen a dubious look, she walked over to the low fence which separated them, grabbed onto the iron cross-bar, planted one foot against a post and then hoisted herself over.

"A girl is very brave indeed," Jaqen remarked. " And very agile. A man would not have tried it."

"That's because you're old," she snickered. "You'd break yourself."

Her neighbor pursed his lips (which somehow made them look _very kissable,_ she thought) and then thrust a helmet toward her.

"Put this on," he said, "and climb on."

Her heart began hammering violently. _He was going to take her for a ride?_

"Where are we going?" she asked as she fastened the strap of the helmet and climbed on behind Jaqen.

"Where does a girl who has been too long away from home wish to go?"

She hesitated for only a second before she said, "I'm dying for a beignet and I only have four weeks to eat my fill."

"Cafe du Monde, then, but no coffee," he cautioned, "or you will never get to sleep. I don't want your mother to blame me."

"I'll drink water."

"Then it's settled."

As they took off down the street, Arya wrapped her arms tightly around Jaqen and tried not to think too much about what it all meant. She had four weeks to figure it out.

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 _ **Home-**_ Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

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 **A/N: I created a pinterest board to post pics of some of the things I thought of while writing this story. If you want to see Garden District homes or the St Charles streetcar or Harry Connick Jr at a Mardi Gras parade, check it out. The link** **is on my profile page.**


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